er in shape to get out of our way. But we made it.

We counted sixteen ships in dock that looked as though they might do
for our purposes. We had to rule out the newer ones and the
reconverted jobs. I mean, after all, U-235 just lasts so long, and you
can steam around the world on a walnut-shell of it, or whatever it is,
but you can't store it. So we had to stick with the ships that were
powered with conventional fuel--and, on consideration, only oil at
that.

But that left sixteen, as I say. Some of them, though, had suffered
visibly from being left untended for nearly a decade, so that for our
purposes they might as well have been abandoned in the middle of the
Atlantic; we didn't have the equipment or ambition to do any great
amount of salvage work.

The _Empress of Britain_ would have been a pretty good bet, for instance,
except that it was lying at pretty nearly a forty-five-degree angle in
its berth. So was the _United States_, and so was the _Caronia_. The
_Stockholm_ was straight enough, but I took a good look, and only one
tier of portholes was showing above the water--evidently it had
settled nice and even, but it was on the bottom all the same. Well,
that mud sucks with a fine tight grip, and we weren't going to try to
loosen it.

All in all, eleven of the sixteen ships were out of commission just
from what we could see driving by.

Vern and I looked at each other. We stood by the MG, while Amy
sprawled her legs over the side and waited for us to make up our
minds.

"Not good, Sam," said Vern, looking worried.

I said: "Well, that still leaves five. There's the _Vulcania_, the
_Cristobal_--"

"Too small."

"All right. The _Manhattan_, the _Liberte_ and the _Queen Elizabeth_."

Amy looked up, her eyes gleaming. "Where's the question?" she
demanded. "Naturally, it's the _Queen_."

I tried to explain. "Please, Amy. Leave these things to us, will you?"

"But the Major won't settle for anything but the best!"

"The _Major_?"

* * * * *

I glanced at Vern, who wouldn't meet my eyes. "Well," I said, "look at
the problems, Amy. First we have to check it over. Maybe it's been
burned out--how do we know? Maybe the channel isn't even deep enough
to float it any more--how do we know? Where are we going to get the
oil for it?"

"We'll get the oil," Amy said cheerfully.

"And what if the channel isn't deep enough?"

"She'll float," Amy promised. "At high tide, anyway.